


The City of the Dead

by WallFlowerWriter



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, I don't even know what I'm doing with this, OC centric, Some people who die in the film don't die here, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallFlowerWriter/pseuds/WallFlowerWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cross-posted on fanfiction.net. Alongside O'Connell and the Carnahans at Hamunaptra, there were the Americans and Doctor Chamberlain. This time, there are others too, a couple writing a travel guide and a woman concerned for their safety at the hands of a certain Beni Gabor. Their presence changes the story somewhat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Mummy fanfiction I swear! It’s just going to be OC centric for the first couple of chapters. The basic premise is: the Americans and Evie, Jonathan and Rick were not the only group at Hamunaptra, there was another group of three. But how will this affect the events of the film?   
> Anyway, the canon characters will probably not appear for a few chapters, but they will appear. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, if you read this far, if you did leave a review, if you didn’t enjoy, then leave a review and tell me what to do to improve.   
> The Mummy belongs to Universal Pictures, not me.   
> Anne and Liam O’Leary do however belong to me, in all their stereotyped awesomeness.

**Cairo 1926**

It was only just dawn, but it was already sweltering, and Liam O’Leary had already decided that it was far too hot for clothes. And that he wanted a fried egg butty, but that was beside the point at the moment. He was sat naked on the edge of his bed, watching the sun rise over Cairo through the half open curtains of his rented apartment windows. Beside him, still fast asleep under the covers, his wife Anne lay, looking more like an angel than ever. How she could sleep in this heat though, he would never know. Standing, he wandered over to the curtains, and drew them open, letting the early morning sunlight bathe his body. He grinned as he bared all to the Egyptian public down below, despite the fact that the streets were still fairly empty, it only just being past half five. He moved away from the window after a moment of observation of the lone figures that hurried through the streets, presumably on their way to work. He sauntered through to the tiny kitchen and began to get out everything that he would need to start breakfast. He knew they’d bought eggs and bread the previous evening, so he decided that a fried egg butty’d do him good. He’d make something for Anne later, let her sleep a little longer, she’d been pushing herself too hard recently, and both of them knew it. But he couldn’t stop her. Listening to him had never been something Anne had done, and being in Cairo for six months certainly hadn’t changed that.

He sighed; this bloody book’d be the death of the both of them. Honestly, it’d all been a little bit of fun when it had started, Anne had written something about the Amazon after they’d gone there on their honeymoon four years earlier, and she’d shown it to her brother, Peter, who was some kind of big book publisher in Chicago, and he’d loved it. Especially when they’d shown him the pictures that went with her writing, the pictures that Liam himself had taken. And within a month, they were the co-authors of a bestseller. ‘Adventures in the Amazon’ By A. and L. O’Leary had sold out almost instantly, and since then Peter had sent them all over the place to write new guides, when that fella knew there was money to be made from something, he milked it for every penny it was worth. The Himalayas, Niagara Falls, Paris, Rome, Madrid, you name it, Liam and Anne had been there. And that was precisely why they were in Cairo. A new book.

Liam sighed, shelling an egg in to the bubbling fat in the frying pan, which he’d set up while he’d been reviewing the situation. He listened as it sizzled, but paid it no real mind, moving back only slightly in case the fat began to spit (boiling fat and naked flesh tended not to mix too well in his experience). He wished, and he thought it was a silly wish, because he doubted very much that it would ever happen, that he and Anne could just settle down now. Maybe go back to Dublin, live in the house he’d inherited from his mum and dad, since he’d been their only son, have a baby or two. He could get a job as a photographer for any newspaper, he knew, he’d had plenty of offers, not just since the books took off, but before then too. He’d always had a good eye for a photograph. And Anne? Well, she could carry on writing. Maybe get a job for a newspaper. Maybe write a fantasy novel, like she’d talked about while they’d been a-courting. She’d be a good mum, if she’d ever give in and give it a go, he knew. Firm but fair, that was his Annie. But he knew that would never happen. At least, not for a while. Anne wasn’t ready to settle down, not yet, she was having too much fun, seeing the world. And he had to admit, it was fun…It was just…unstable. Well, not totally unstable. Anne was a constant. And Peter was fairly constant too. They’d go and see him every few months in his office in Chicago, where it was always too cold and it smelt like mould. And they’d get told exactly the same thing: “This is great, really great! The crowd’ll eat it up! Now about your next one, I was thinking maybe” and then he’d say Peru or China or India or some little village in the middle of Africa, that neither of them had ever heard of. Liam sighed again and flipped the egg over.

 

* * *

 

Anne watched her husband from the doorway, watching as the muscles in his back rippled as he moved. Anne loved to watch. Not just Liam, although he was her favourite thing, but everything, she loved watching people from windows up above the streets of the cities that she visited with regularity, she loved watching from a bench in the park, she’d done that a lot back in London, and she’d done it even more when she and Liam had begun to see one another. She’d meet him on his lunch breaks and they’d sit together in Hyde Park watching the world pass them by as they held hands and laughed about this and that. Liam was good at making her laugh. And he was always laughing and grinning himself, which was why the melancholy sighs coming from him at that moment were quite worrying to her. Her Liam was never like that, never sighing or frowning. Feeling a curious frown forming on her own pink lips, she walked behind him and slipped her arms around his waist, noting how trim he’d become since they’d begun their exploits.

“What’s to do, my darling? What’s caused your melancholy mood, eh?” Her prim English accent cut through the morning air, and even though she was only half awake, sounded full of life and vim and vigour. She felt him give a silent laugh and she knew he’d be smiling now.

“Ahh, not much my love, just being a silly beggar.” He answered, moving the frying pan from the fire and turning the hob off in a swift motion. Anne placed her head against her husband’s back and let the warmth of his body seep in to her, pressing her forehead against the flesh insistently.

“Are you sure? You really didn’t seem that happy. And it’s so early for you to be up.” She had him there. He’d never been one for early mornings.

“Couldn’t sleep, it’s this damn heat. ‘S not this hot in Dublin ever. Or London for that matter.” His voice was a deep rumble from somewhere deep in his chest and she let it wash over her, soothing her almost back in to sleep.

“It’s been this hot in other places. When we were in the Amazon, it was this hot. If not even hotter. And when we went to Australia, it was quite hot there too.” She heard him chuckle again, and he turned in her grip, facing her. She looked up in to his eyes, a sweet hazel meeting a stormy blue, and she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently. When she pulled back, Liam cupped her cheek and murmured “You sound tired, my girl. Go back to bed and I’ll get you up in plenty of time for the meeting with Peter’s mate later. I’ll even make you breakfast.” It was Anne’s turn to laugh.

“Most certainly not! I’m awake now, and I have no intention of going back to sleep. Besides, I’d rather not have to suffer through another one of your cooking attempts!” She giggled at the last part and poked him playfully in the chest. The photographer mock pouted for a moment, but then chuckled along with his wife, grabbing her and hauling her also naked form from the floor and over his shoulder, causing her to squeal with indignation.

“You’re going back to bed, whether you like it or not Mrs O’Leary! Because you’re a good little wife who does as her husband tells her!” He plopped her down on the bed and she glared at him before they both dissolved in to laughter.

“Me? A good little wife?” She cackled.

“I know!” He gawffed. “It was hard enough not to laugh when I said it!” He sat down at the edge of the bed, beside his wife, who stopped laughing long enough to give him a sly smile, which was very quickly returned as she slid in to his lap. Needless to say, Liam O’Leary did not get his fried egg butty that morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While at a meeting with their publisher, Anne and Liam make a new acquaintance and receive a suggestion for their new book.

Ama Massri could say with the upmost confidence that she hated her job. If she didn’t need the money, she would not have been there, there being the publishing house in central Cairo where she was the secretary of one Mr Abdul, the head of this branch of Thompson Publishing.   She sighed, rubbing at her eyes as she prepared herself to read through (and probably ultimately reject) another hopeful’s manuscript. This would-be epic was a fantasy aimed at children about a genie who went on wonderful adventures with his two infant companions. Ama groaned as she began to read. It was only ten O’clock in the morning, and she had an entire day of this in front of her, not to mention the ones that Mr Abdul didn’t get around to reading. She’d have to take those home with her and read through them tonight too. “Ahh, give me Osiris and Isis over this any day.” She muttered to herself as she flicked through the pages of the manuscript absentmindedly. The writing, or what she was skimming of it, wasn’t half bad, which was a surprise, so she slapped it down on to the ‘possibly’ pile, which sat between the (rather full) ‘rejected’ pile and the (rather empty) ‘definitely’ pile. She would read that, along with the other three that were already sat there, later, once she had eliminated the definite rejects.

Just as she went to pick up another manuscript, a couple walked in. They were young, younger than her by two or three years at least , and obviously not Egyptian. The woman was pale and curvaceous, with long curly red hair that hung in ringlets around her round face. She was covered in freckles, all the way over her forehead and cheeks and her neck too. The man was tall and well built, with dark brown hair and light hazel eyes, and a work man’s complexion.  They stood in the middle of the entrance way for a moment, eyes scanning the small, well lit room. Ama followed their joint gaze, taking in the faded cream walls and the dirtied maroon carpets, and thinking that it must not make an impressive first impression. Slowly, after taking in the paintings that hung on the walls, presumably to take attention away from the bland, old wall paper, their eyes settled on Ama. It was the woman who spoke first.

“Hello. You speak English?” She spoke slowly and rather loudly, and her accent gave away that she was clearly middle class English. Ama scowled, hating that this rich woman would see fit to patronise her in such a way.

“Yes. Quite well thank you. Do you speak Arabic?”  She replied in kind, speaking slowly and loudly, knowing that even if her accent was too thick, she had gotten her point across well enough, especially when the woman’s freckled cheeks flushed redder than the dusk sky. The man, who Ama guessed to be the woman’s husband, chuckled and stepped forward.

“I apologise on my wife’s behalf. She didn’t mean to offend.” Ama was glad that this man spoke slowly. His accent was even thicker than her own, and she could barely decipher it. She had no idea what accent that was. Maybe Australian? She had heard that Australian accents were hard to decipher. “We’re here to see Mr Abdul. I believe he’s expecting us, Mr and Mrs O’Leary?” Ama paused for a moment and shuffled through the notes on her desk. She found, after a few moments of rustling, the schedule of meetings that Mr Abdul had given her earlier that week, and sure enough, the O’Leary’s were on there, for Thursday morning at ten o’clock. So, Ama stood and walked to the polished oak door behind her desk and rapped on it three times sharply with her knuckles. There was a shout from inside the room, and soon after the door swung open to reveal Mr Abdul, the skinny, rather frightened looking man that ran this branch of the firm. Ama often thought that he resembled a mouse with glasses, simply because he was not fierce enough to be a rat, even  if he would have sold his mother to earn a quick pound. He adjusted his glasses and stared at the couple for a moment before his face broke in to a snaggle-toothed grin.

“Mr and Mrs O’Leary!” His accent wasn’t as thick as Ama’s own, and she knew this was because he’d spent time in America in his youth. “I have been expecting you! Mr Thompson sent me a telegram about your latest book, and I must say I am a fan of your others, please, do come in!” With little hesitation, the man, Mr O’Leary, strode in to Abdul’s office, grinning at Ama as he passed. The secretary quickly decided that she liked this Mr O’Leary character. Mrs O’Leary was a little more subdued than her husband, who strode, rather like his shoes were made of pure rubber. She walked with grace and dignity, her head held high, although, she did offer Ama a polite nod as she passed, which the Egyptian woman returned for the sake of manners. She could not be rude to clients. That was Mr Abdul’s golden rule, and no matter how much she longed to disobey, especially when pompous rich folk waltzed through the door and spoke to her like she was a simpleton, she needed the money too much to say what she really thought of them.  Well, at least she had a break in half an hour.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean it’s not good enough?!” Anne’s voice was raised, a rarity in itself, and she had also turned a darker shade of red than a cherry, which was a very unflattering colour for her, and her husband was desperately trying to calm her.

“Annie, my love, I’m sure he didn’t mean-“

“You heard exactly what he said Liam! He said my writing wasn’t good enough!” At this, Anne turned to the little Egyptian man who was cowering behind his desk. “Well?! Didn’t you say that?!”

“Yes, but what I meant was-“ A fierce glare from the redhead cut him off.

“I have written no less than five bestsellers, Mr Abdul, and I currently have more money in my bank account than you will see in your entire life, all on account of my ‘not good enough’ writing, so what do you say to that?!” She was practically leaning across the desk now, glaring the publisher straight in his watery eyes. “Well?!” 

“It’s just…It’s boring.” The little man squeaked, and Anne’s face turned from red to purple, as Liam winced, stood and made for the door. Whatever his wife was about to do to this man, he wanted no part in it.

“You! Sit!” The screech interrupted his journey, so he turned and sat back in his (rather uncomfortable) chair with a meek “Yes dear.” He and Anne did not argue for a reason. He always lost. And she was very, very frightening  when she was angry.  Taking a few deep breaths, Anne’s face turned from purple back to a very dark red.

“Now, what do you mean it’s boring?” She ground out through gritted teeth and Liam could tell she was trying very hard to return to her civil English Lady voice (she was also failing miserably, but he would not be the one to tell her this, no matter how much he loved her). Mr Abdul gulped and adjusted his glasses nervously.

“Well, it’s just I mean-“

“Do yourself a favour and spit it out.” Liam told him calmly, looking around the room, noting the painting of the Nile during the sun rising over it. It was very pretty, perhaps he’d look for one like it when they finished, before they left for America. One like that’d look nice in their living room when they settled down.  

“It makes Cairo out to be very boring. All you have done is write about museums and market places and pickpockets. It has nothing on any of your other books. It’s far less exciting.” Mr Abdul visibly flinched when he finished speaking, obviously expecting another outburst. Instead, he was met with a stony glare and dangerous silence. Liam, on the other hand, was chuckling.

“What on Earth do you expect her to write about? That’s all there is here! She’s done the best she could with a limited subject matter. Do cut her a little slack Mr Abdul.” As he said this, he could see the anger in his wife’s eyes fade, and a tiny smile play on her lips. He was glad; Liam did not like it when his wife was angry. She was a lot easier to live with when she was happy, or even just mediocre. And it always made her happy when her husband supported her in her endeavours.

“Yes Mr Abdul, my husband is completely right. There is nothing else for me to write about here other than markets and museums. And as for the pickpockets, well the public have a right to know what to expect should they ever come here, do they not?”   Mr Abdul, possibly sensing that the danger had temporarily, if not permanently, passed, scowled at the couple.

“They do, but if you publish this, then no one will have to worry about the pickpockets because no one will be coming to Cairo!”

“Then what exactly do you suggest?” Anne folded her arms and perched herself on the edge of Mr Abdul’s desk, watching the man like a cat would watch a small bird in its garden.

“I suggest you visit some of the historical sights. The pyramids, for example. I find it very hard to believe that two seasoned travellers such as yourselves have been here for half a year and have not visited such landmarks.” Anne cocked her head to one side, and Liam knew what was coming. It would be exactly the same reason she had used for not visiting the Coliseum in Rome.  And the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

“People have heard plenty of the Pyramids, in plenty of other books. If they want to come to Egypt for them, then I doubt another review of how wonderful they are will have much effect on them, do you Liam?” And there it was.

“Why no dear.” And that was that. However, unlike the French or Italian publishers, Mr Abdul did not look convinced by this line of argument, causing Anne to sigh and glare at him.

“Well, what would you suggest then Mr Abdul?” She questioned, contempt dripping from her mouth as she spoke his name.

“If you do not wish to visit the pyramids then go to a different site. I have a friend, a Mr Beni Gabor, who claims to know the location of Hamunaptra.” Liam watched as his wife’s eyes widened almost comically.

“Surely you don’t mean- I mean, surely not THE-“

“Yes. The Hamunaptra. And for the right price, I’m sure he could take you there.”

Outside of the door, Ama dropped her packet of cigarettes in shock. Hamunaptra. The City of the Dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that’s all three of my OCs introduced, so now the plot can actually get going. The things I have learnt from this chapter:  
> -Ama doesn’t do accents very well. And she is spiteful.  
> -Never criticise Anne’s writing.  
> -Liam is a wimp.  
> -I don’t like Mr Abdul.  
> Also, there was finally a mention of a canon character. Hope this chapter was enjoyable, and, as mentioned previously please review.  
> The Mummy and Beni Gabor belong to Universal Pictures and Steve Sommers, not me.  
> Ama, Liam, Anne and Mr Abdul do belong to me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ama gets a backstory and while the O'Leary's learn a little more about their desired guide.

Ama sat heavily down in her chair, taking in gasping breaths. Hamunaptra. City of the Dead. A place of terror, or so she had heard. And, God, had she heard about it. Heard the stories, heard about the battles there, heard of the horrors that had taken place, only a few years earlier. The name of that place had long haunted Ama. Surely, Mr Abdul didn’t intend to send that couple there did he? And, what’s more with Beni Gabor as a guide? Ama did not know Beni Gabor, but she had heard of him. Heard of how the people that he took in to the desert didn’t return, but he always did, with some story of a tragic illness, or a sudden love affair with a local villager. Sometimes he didn’t even bother with a story, and just left their disappearance as unexplained. Surely, surely Mr Abdul did not intend to send these unsuspecting people off with that rat, did he? The more she thought about it, the more frenzied she felt her mind become, as she was whisked back to a time when moral dilemmas had not concerned her.

**Cairo 1924**

Kau Massri was dying, that much was obvious. Dying of French Pox, much to his mother’s shame. But not to his sister’s. She did not care of what he was dying; only that he was, and the sorrow that was welling in her breast at this thought was almost uncontrollable. So Ama sat at her older brother’s bedside, keeping a vigil, and providing her brother with comfort in his hour of need, as he had done so often to her in their childhood years. But those times were long gone now as Kau licked his cracked lips and murmured to her in an ever-fading voice.

“Ama, my Ama. My baby sister. I’m dying.” Ama gulped, and blinked a few times, dispersing the tears that had formed when he’d spoken. She knew he was dying. Of course she knew. Everyone on their street knew he was dying. But to hear him say it so casually, in a way that was almost accepting…It brought that sorrow raging back.

“No. Don’t say that. You’re not dying. Just…just going through a rough patch. You’ll get better, I know you will.” He chuckled at that, as though it were some kind of joke, and Ama stared at him.

“You and I both know that this is not something I will recover from, Ama. I’m going to die, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Ama, Ama don’t cry, please. I hate to see you cry.” Ama sniffled, wiping her face on the backs of her hands, trying to stop the tears that were making fast tracks down her cheeks. She looked up at him and gave a watery smile, which he sadly returned. He reached out and cupped her face with one large hand. “Ama, I have to tell you something. It is very important, and I must tell someone before I go, because I cannot die in peace with this burden on my soul. Please, let me confess my sins to you.” And she did, because she knew that no one else would listen truly to every word he said. She listened, enraptured and horrified as he told her of his days after joining a group of Tuaregs, how they had travelled through the desert and found Hamunaptra, occupied by French Legionnaires, how they had fought and killed many of the soldiers, and seen many of their own dead by the hands of the Legionnaires. Her breath caught in her throat as he spoke of how he had been among the survivors who had cornered the commanding officer, ready to end his life, but then Kau stopped. She stared at him in anticipation.

“What happened? Did you kill him?” She questioned, her eyes wide and frightened. To think of her brother as a killer, it was almost impossible. Kau smiled serenely at his sister, reaching to grip her hand.

“Light me a cigarette, sister, there’s a good girl. I want a smoke. Then I will tell you the rest.”  Ama did as she was bid, lighting one of the cigarettes that were hidden in the bedside table’s draw, and holding it out to her brother, who took it with shaking fingers. He lifted it to his lips and took a long drag, then let the smoke out through his mouth. He turned again to his sister, that soft smile still firmly in place.

“We did not kill him. Before we could, our horses, all of them, every single one, went mad, and began to throw us from their backs. We could see no source for this, but the air around the city had grown thick and heavy, it was as though something, some other presence was there, watching us. I could feel its hatred, it’s want for destruction. There was something evil out there, Ama, and I was afraid.” He paused again, and looked to his sister, and Ama saw fear in his dark eyes which so mirrored her own. He brought the cigarette up to his mouth again, and took another long drag. “I stole a camel that was tethered near the ruins, just outside of them, I think it must have belonged to the Legionnaires, and I rode until I reached the nearest city. I left my companions out there, to the desert, to whatever evil was at Hamunaptra. I left them to die. I was a coward.” He looked down, ashamed. Then he looked up and met his sister’s eyes. “Please, Ama, don’t hate me. Think less of me, but please, don’t hate me.”  And Ama didn’t. She just held her brother’s hand and cried silently.

**Cairo 1926**

Anne and Liam walked out of the office of Mr Abdul with one location in their mind: A bar in lower Cairo, where they would more than likely find Mr Gabor. Ama watched them go, still trembling slightly. She didn’t necessarily like that Mrs O’Leary, but to send her off to almost certain death without so much as a word of warning?  Ama stood and, with far more confidence than she felt, strode from the office, hoping to catch up with the couple before they made it out in to the busy streets and she lost them. She had seen death weigh heavily on her brother’s conscience, she would not let that happen to herself.

 xxx

They were already halfway down the street by the time Ama made it out of the building, but they were easy to spot. Hair like Mrs O’Leary’s was not common place in Cairo. They were walking at a fair speed, and the crowd was hindering her efforts to reach them, so Ama cried out.

“Mr O’Leary! Wait!” The tall figure of Mr O’Leary paused and turned. He blinked in surprise when he spotted Ama running towards them. He didn’t carry on walking though, Ama noted with some relief. She slowed to a walk, and had soon caught up to the couple. Mrs O’Leary looked less than pleased at her appearance, but Mr O’Leary merely looked curious.

“Did we forget something?” Mrs O’Leary questioned curtly, her one eyebrow raised, giving the secretary a look that was not quite a glare, but not quite a stare either. It made Ama feel rather uncomfortable.

“No, but I just, I need to tell you something. About” She looked around cautiously, checking that no one was listening. “Hamunaptra.”  Now the couple both eyed her curiously. But it was Mr O’Leary that spoke first.

“Well, we can’t very well talk out here. We can barely hear you. Come on, we were just on our way to find a pub anyway.” Ama wasn’t sure exactly what a pub was, but she was glad for the suggestion. Maybe once she sat down her thoughts would sort themselves out and she would be able to decide what to tell them. Hopefully something a little more plausible than ‘My dying, delusional brother told me that there’s something evil out there, and the guide you want to hire is rumoured to be a murderer.’        

 

* * *

 

They walked for  quite a long while, none of them speaking, although Liam and Anne exchanged glances frequently, and once they reached the poorer area of Cairo, he slipped his hand in to his wife’s and clutched it tightly. He didn’t like that she was here, he would’ve rather gone and spoken to this Mr Gabor alone, especially in this rougher area, but she had seemed intent on speaking to him herself, and as he well knew, when Anne set her mind on something, there was very little changing it. He looked over to check on the secretary, whose name, he realised, they had yet to learn. She was striding forward, matching pace with him exactly, while Anne lagged behind a little bit, and had to be pulled along. She seemed confident in this area, he realised, more confident than she had been in the publishing house, although she had been fairly confident there, he supposed. Looking around, he realised that the crowds had thinned to only a few stragglers, most of them either drunk or looking for somewhere they could get drunk. He paused for a moment.

“Is something wrong dear?” Anne asked, looking around, worry on her features. He licked nervously at his lips, then looked to his wife and the secretary.

“I’m not sure where we are. I think I might have taken a wrong turn.” The secretary looked around them, then spoke up.

“Where were you looking for?”  Liam stumbled his way through the name of the bar, which was in Arabic, and she nodded. “It’s two streets back. We walked past it. Come, I will show you.” She started off in the direction that they had come from and Liam looked at his wife and shrugged when he saw that she was glaring at him.

 

* * *

 

It took them a few minutes to reach the bar, and the secretary did not seem enthused about actually entering it. Once inside, they sat around a small table in the far corner near the door on Liam’s insistence. He had taken a quick glance around, noticed that many of the patrons of this less than fine establishment were the type that would quite happily have robbed a corpse, and taken it upon himself to ensure that they had a safe getaway route should anything happen (which it seemed to him that it would). The bar was not well lit, having few lights and even fewer windows, and Anne could barely see the woman sat across from her. Even Liam, who was sat directly beside her, was partially obscured by shadow, his eyes shining from the darkness like a cat’s.

“What’s your name?”

“What do you know about Hamunaptra?” Anne and her husband spoke at the same time, then turned to glare at one another. She looked away first, giving her husband the right to speak.

“What’s your name?” He enquired politely. The secretary was silent for a moment, and Anne thought she wasn’t going to answer at first.

“Ama Massri.” Came the answer, a sudden break in the silence which had overtaken the table.

“Well, Miss Massri, what do you know about Hamunaptra?” Anne asked her question, leaning forward, almost across the table, trying to catch view of the woman’s face. Miss Massri licked her lips nervously and looked around the bar, obviously still worried about being overheard.

“My brother went there.” Anne blinked in surprise.

“He’s been there? Are you sure? Mr Abdul gave the impression that-“

“Mr Abdul is a liar and a cheat. You should not trust him. And you should not trust Beni Gabor either. He is a bad man.” Anne raised an eyebrow.

“And you have reliable sources to confirm this, do you?” Liam shot his wife a look that was clearly telling her to be quiet.  “If Mr Gabor is such a bad man, then why would Mr Abdul recommend him?” The author pointed out, although to who, Liam wasn’t sure.

“Because they are two of a kind. Mr Abdul and Beni Gabor are alike in more ways than one. And if Mr Abdul sends you to Gabor, and you pay him to guide you, Abdul might see some of that money.”  Though from the sound of Miss Massri’s voice, she highly doubted it.  Anne eyed the woman critically in the dark of the bar.

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you just get your brother to guide us?” There was a slight pause.

“My brother passed away two years ago.” Was the quiet reply. Immediately, Anne felt awful, and she could feel Liam giving her a disapproving stare in the near darkness. She reached across the table and touched the older woman’s hand, which was lying on the table top. It was pulled away in a movement that was more like a flinch than anything else, but Miss Massri did offer a soft, genuine smile to the author, which she could only just make out in the dimly-lit room. “Please, don’t go with him.”

“Why does this concern you?” Liam questioned, not meaning to sound as callous as he did.

“It doesn’t.” The Egyptian woman shot back. “But perhaps I don’t want your deaths on my conscience.” Both Liam and Anne blinked in shock at this. Seeing their surprise, Miss Massri continued. “Don’t think me generous or kind for telling you this, I’m only doing so because I’ve seen how guilt can consume a person’s soul before, and I have no desire to have that happen to me.”

“That’s…Very honest of you.” Anne spoke, taken aback by the Egyptian’s confession. Miss Massri shrugged, obviously not agreeing with the woman, but not concerned enough to voice that.

“Look, all that about him being a possible murderer is all well and good, but there’s no actual proof, is there?” Liam pointed out. “And besides, without him, how will we reach Hamunaptra? It’s not as if any old ragamuffin can tell you the way, is it?” Before the Anne or Miss Massri could reply, they were interrupted by a man’s voice.

“S’cuse me, but did I hear you folks right? You’re looking for Hamunaptra?” Liam stared at the blonde man before them, while Anne and Miss Massri glared at him stonily.

“What’s it to you?” The secretary questioned, folding her arms across her chest tightly. Anne raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, obviously supporting the other woman’s hostility towards the American man.

“Not a damn thing, doll, it’s just me and my compadres, well, we happen to be on our way there tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not enjoy writing this chapter, so if that reflects in the writing, I apologise. So, we finally get an appearance from a canon character (about time). These chapters seem to be getting longer and longer.   
> I know it’s very unlikely that Ama’s brother would have been accepted in to the Tuareg, but, seeing as how this is a story about an undead Egyptian priest trying to resurrect his dead love, I’m hoping that belief can be suspended a little bit.   
> The Mummy, Beni Gabor and Henderson belong to Universal Pictures and Steve Sommers, and I am neither of those.   
> Ama, Anne, Liam, Kau and Mr Abdul are mine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made and people are convinced of things that are not necessarily correct or true.

“You’re going to Hamunaptra?” Liam asked, his face full of surprise. Anne was looking sceptically at the American in the cowboy hat, while Ama was scowling at him for the endearment he had used. 

“Sure am. Me an’ my buddies, takin’ the first boat outta Giza Port tomorrow.” The American answered, grinning widely at the Irish man’s stunned expression.

“And just how do you intend to get there, Mr ...”

“Henderson, ma’am, my name’s Henderson. And we got ourselves a guide. Little Hungarian fella. ‘Fraid a his own shadow.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Anne questioned, her suspicions getting the best of her. Beside her, Liam was still looking rather stunned that they were not the only ones in pursuit of the city and Ama looked deep in thought.

“Well, seems to me like we got a common cause, if you folks really are lookin’ for Hamunaptra. ‘Sides, can’t a fella do somethin’ nice for a pair o’ pretty girls?” At this, Liam scowled and slipped his arm around Anne’s shoulders, while Ama ignored the American studiously, still lost in her own thoughts. Anne regarded Henderson coolly.

“As you can see, I am spoken for. And I’m quite sure that Miss Massri has very little interest in you either, do you Miss Massri?” Ama blinked at the sound of her name, then registered what had been said.

“You would do well not to presume about my preferences Mrs O’Leary, but in this case, yes, you are correct. I cannot stand un-groomed Americans who so rudely interrupt private conversations.” Henderson wrinkled his nose in disgust and shrugged, turning to walk away. Ama continued to speak though. “However, you mentioned your guide. He would not happen to be a Mr Beni Gabor, would he?”   

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” Before Ama could answer, Anne cut in.

“My husband and I would like to speak to him. Do you know where we could find him?”

“Sure thing sweetheart, he’s right over there, sittin’ with my buddies. I could introduce you if you want.” He smiled a very charming smile, and Liam’s arm tightened around his wife’s shoulders, so much so that she turned to glare at him.

“Oh, honestly Liam. He’s only going to take us to Mr Gabor, I’m not going to run away with him. We came here to look for him anyway, so if this gentleman knows where he is, then that makes our job much easier doesn’t it?” Anne smiled at her husband, knowing he could hardly resist her when she smiled, and he grumbled something unintelligible, but loosened his grip around her shoulders nonetheless. She turned to Henderson. “Well, go on then, let’s meet Mr Gabor.” She began to rise, when Ama spoke.

“Do you really think this is wise? After what I have told you?” Anne pursed her lips and Liam looked curiously between his wife and the Egyptian woman before piping up.

“If you’re so concerned, why not come with us and make sure we return safely?” Ama laughed, though there was no joy in it.

“Me? Go to Hamunaptra? I’d rather die.”

“Well, you do have a rather threatening demeanour. Why not just come and threaten Mr Gabor in to making sure we return safely if it concerns you so?” Anne smirked as Ama glared at her, but stood and strode off to the table that Henderson had gestured to earlier. The O’Learys and Henderson followed, Henderson grinning like a fool, Anne smirking at the older woman’s anger and Liam, wondering how he had gotten messed up in all of this.

The table was just beside a window, meaning it had far better lighting than their previous one. Around it sat three men, one with dark hair and glasses, although he was currently polishing them, one with a five o’clock shadow and a receding hairline, and the third was a skinny pale man with watery eyes that kept darting around the bar and a fez on his head. Ama knew by a mixture of instinct and word of mouth that this was Beni Gabor.     

 

* * *

 

Beni hated Americans. He hated the way they spoke, always dropping their g’s and d’s, and he hated the way they always thought they were better than everybody else, especially him. Which was why leaving them in the middle of the desert had never really bothered him. After all, he got all the money upfront, and no one had ever confronted him about it. At least, until now. These Americans and their British doctor, they had been smart enough to only pay him half before they left for the ancient city, telling him he’d earn the rest when they were all back safe and sound in their hotel. Beni had thought this to be the only problem he would face with these Americans. But now, this woman was there, standing across from him, her hands on her hips, something akin to hatred in her gaze as she spoke to him in English, probably for the benefit of the people surrounding them.

“Well? It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve left people to rot in the desert, haven’t you, Mr Gabor?” Her voice was heavy with an Arabian accent that he’d grown used to over the past few years, and accusation, a tone that one might normally associate with a school teacher, which was probably why he found it so easy to scowl up at her as he replied.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” This woman, whom he’d really never seen before in his life, perhaps she was the wife or sister of one of the men he’d sent in to the desert, only narrowed her dark eyes, complete disbelief behind them. “You’re crazy.” Beni had always found that the best thing to do in situations like this was to discredit his attacker, no matter how correct their accusations might be. “I’ve never even seen you before in my life.”

“Liar.” That one word is filled with more venom than he would care to admit, but before she could continue, the woman behind her, a pretty little thing made up of soft curves and light colours, backed by a tall, stern looking man who was watching the exchange with curious eyes, interrupted.

“I’m so sorry; my companion doesn’t understand subtlety apparently. My name is Anne O’Leary, I’m an author, perhaps you’ve heard of me?” He had not. His head shake was apparently a surprise, if the slight widening of her eyes and the look of pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows her companion received was any indication. “Oh, well, um, I am quite well known, but perhaps not here. Anyway, that’s beside the point.” She waved her hand a little, as if to wave the idea away, and continued regardless. “You see, our friend, Miss Massri here, she has heard some, well, rumours, and you see, she’s rather concerned about them, especially as we are looking to employ you.” Beni opened his mouth to interrupt, to claim that those rumours were nothing more than unprovable hearsay, but the little English woman held one hand up to keep him silent. “Now, I understand that accidents do happen and that the desert is a dangerous place, which leads me to believe that these rumours are probably unsubstantiated in their origins. So with that in mind, I have to ask Mr Gabor, how many parties have you lost in recent years?”

Thinking quickly, Beni realised that to answer none would look suspicious, even when this stupid woman seemed so quick to dismiss everything she’s been told about him, and that the man behind her was still watching him like a snake watching a mouse, as were the Americans surrounding him. That Massri woman (he still didn’t know who she was, although the name seemed vaguely familiar) was watching him too, her mouth curled up in to a vicious sneer. Making a snap decision, (which he didn’t like to do, but what other choice did he have?) Beni lowered his head in to his folded arms and began to sob dramatically. The Englishwoman gasped, her hands probably flew to cover her mouth.

“Oh, Miss,” he looked up at her when he was sure that there were convincing tears in his eyes, “I’ve only ever lost one party, and it was so awful!” He sniffled pathetically and wiped his nose on his off-white shirt sleeve. The women, both of them, stared at him, one in incredulity, the other in what he hoped was sympathy. “It was a party of five, three brothers and their cousins, and the journey there was fine, but on the way back…” He paused to let out a small hiccup of a sob. “There was a huge sandstorm that threw us off-course on the way back to Cairo, and we got so terribly lost,” he sniffled again, louder this time, “we ran out of food and then water too, we became delirious with sunstroke and dehydration. The other men, they began to turn on one another, I had no way to stop them, they had guns and I had none, they began accusing one another of awful things, sleeping with each-others wives and stealing money and the like. I think it was our fourth day lost that one of the men killed his cousin. From there it was madness, and, and, and by the time help found us…” He trailed off, swallowing and closing his eyes, as though it is an especially painful matter to discuss. The redheaded one’s hands were over her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The man behind her had stepped forward at some point and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his brows furrowed in worry. A quick glance told him that his American audience was as enthralled as the couple. The Massri woman, however, looked like she was about to rip his arm off and beat him, and anyone that was believing his tale, with it.   

“I was the only one left.” He finished quietly, letting his head fall in to the cradle of his folded arms again. When the Englishwoman let out a soft murmur of “Oh how awful.” Beni smirked down at the table. What a good tale. He’d have to remember that one. He looked up again, wiping at his face with his shirtsleeves, only to find an expensive-looking handkerchief in front of him. The tall man with his arm around the redhead looked at him expectantly and nodded towards it. Beside him, the Massri woman rolled her eyes, looking supremely unhappy. This, naturally, pleased Beni to no end and he made sure to lock eyes with her for a moment as he took the embroidered hankie. The initials were **L.O.L.** , but he’d unpick the stitching when he got home so he could sell it on. Wiping his face carefully so as not to really dirty the thing, he sniffled again. “Thank you. You’re very kind. Most people hear the rumours and assume they are true without ever asking me.” The Englishwoman nodded sympathetically, but not before casting a withering glance over at her female companion, who glared back, clearly not understanding how these people were missing the cad right in front of them. Beni knew how. They were stupid. Most people were, especially the richer folk. And these two? They were rich alright. If the way the woman spoke hadn’t already convinced him of that, the hankie would have done the job just as quick. Back to the matter at hand though.

“That is the only time I’ve ever lost a party, I swear to you.” Well, it wasn’t like there was anyone left that could prove him a liar, was there? “And it haunts me.” He whispered perhaps a tad overdramatically, letting out a small sob for good measure.

“ _Oh, you must be joking!_ ” The Massri woman exclaimed in Arabic, arms crossed, looking both furious and exasperated at the same time. The tall man shushed her, turning back to him after a moment of glaring. Shouldering the bespectacled man out of her way, the Englishwoman took a seat across from him and grabbed his hands in hers.

“Oh, Mr Gabor, how awful! What a terrible experience that must have been for you!”

“ _What a terrible experience it was for those listening._ ” Commented the other woman dryly. Beni and the Englishwoman ignored her, although the bespectacled American was now looking at her curiously. That one might know a little Arabic, Beni thought, so he might be getting the general idea of Massri’s disdain. It didn’t matter though, the rest of them now all thought she was a callous shrew, which was very good for Beni and his wallet.

“I appreciate your candour, Mr Gabor, which is why my husband and I have a proposition for you.” Sniffling once more for affect, Beni leaned in curiously.

“And what is that, Ma’am?” She smiled pleasantly and Beni found himself smiling back, just a little. She was a very pretty thing, and Beni had always had a weakness for pretty things, women or otherwise.

“My husband and I would like to join your expedition to Hamunaptra. We’re willing to pay whatever price you’d like for the opportunity.”

“Uh, I don’t think that the doctor-” Began the bespectacled American (Beni had not learnt their names, and did not intend to), but he was cut off by one of his cowboy companions, the blonde one.

“We’d be more’n happy to have ‘em come along to, ain’t that right Daniels?” The other cowboy shrugged, polishing his revolver as he had been doing throughout the duration of the conversation.

“Sure, why not. Don’t see any problem with it.” The Englishwoman’s smile widened and she turned to look at Beni.

“Name your price, Mr Gabor.” He thought about it for one moment.

“50 pounds.”  At the slight raise of the husband’s eyebrow, Beni added “Each.” The couple glanced at one another, and appeared to have a quick, silent conversation before the wife turned back to him, smiling.

“Certainly, Mr Gabor. 50 tomorrow at the barge, and 50 upon our safe return to Cairo.” Maybe they weren’t as stupid as he’d first thought. He nodded as the Massri woman grabbed the husband’s arm and pulled him off in to the corner of the bar.

They stood there for a few minutes, muttering quietly between themselves, although the Arabic woman’s arms flailed as she talked quickly and furiously. Those left at the table watched in confusion and bemusement at the mostly silent but obviously frustrated conversation that was taking place. After a few minutes, he grabbed her arms and leant in slightly closer to her, looking her in the eyes as he spoke. She drew back cautiously, eyeing him as though he were mad, but then folded her arms under her breasts, looking slightly unsure but mollified. Nodding once, she turned on her heel and walked back to her spot beside the table. A little sheepishly, the man followed her.

“Something wrong dear?” His wife asked, eyebrow raised delicately, suggesting that if something was wrong she’d have a hissy fit.

“Oh, no darling, everything’s fine.” Oh, he was Irish. Beni hadn’t really been expecting that. “It’s just a slight change in plans, is all. You see, tomorrow we’ll be paying Mr Gabor £75 at the docks, and then another 75 when we get back, because Miss Massri has decided to come with us.”  His wife clapped her hands together, although she was obviously not entirely pleased with this outcome.

“Oh, well, very good. Miss Massri,” the other woman looked at her with very thinly veiled disdain in her eyes. Beni appreciated the sentiment, he often felt that when he looked at people like L.O.L. and his wife too, “we’ll be meeting at the docks tomorrow at” she paused and looked to the blond cowboy.

“10, ma’am.”

“10 sharp. Bring suitable clothes and a tent if you have one.”

“I don’t.” Miss Massri replied through gritted teeth, likely displeased at being talked down to. At this, the bespectacled American spoke up.

“You can have mine. There’s room in Henderson and Daniels’ tent, I’ll share with them, I don’t mind.” The two cowboys made vague noises of disagreement, but the look their companion sent them a glare which swiftly shut them up. Miss Massri looked at him, considering his offer for a moment, before smiling pleasantly and nodding. She was quite pretty when she smiled, Beni noted, in a sharp, school mistress type way, not like the Englishwoman who was soft and reminded him of the paintings of French Queens and their ladies-in-waiting. The American noticed too, flushing and looking down in to his drink as she answered.

“I’d appreciate that greatly, thank you sir.”  Beside her, the Irishman rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, obviously amused.

“Well, that’s all that settled then. Anything else before we run home and pack?” His wife thought for a moment, tapping her index finger on her chin as she did. The Americans were shaking their heads, and Miss Massri was stood with her arms crossed beneath her breasts again, staring, eyes narrowed, at Beni. Beni, in turn was attempting to avoid her gaze, focussing solely on the couple before him.

“I don’t think so, dear.” The wife eventually said, moving to stand. Her husband placed his hands on her shoulders and gently guided her back down again.

“Well, before we head off, let’s buy these fellows a drink, hm? To thank them for being so accommodating. Lord knows Mr Gabor could probably use one after that sad tale he told us earlier.” Beni nodded frantically. He most certainly could use a drink, seeing as how his party of annoying Americans and professors had now nearly doubled in size. The wife sighed and nodded, waving her husband off towards the bar. Miss Massri grabbed a stool from the table behind her and brought it to the table side, pointedly placing it as far from Beni as she could. They made quiet conversation for a few minutes, the Americans attempting and failing to charm the women with tales of their exploits back west, until the Irishman returned with a tray and a glass of whiskey for everyone, even the women.

“Finest they had,” he grinned, picking up a glass and holding it aloft. “Now gentlemen, ladies, I think a toast is in order!” Everyone followed suit, their glasses high as well as most of their spirits. “To Mr Gabor for agreeing to guide us; to our American pal for introducing us to him; to Miss Massri for her continued concerns about our safety, but mostly, to Hamunaptra!”

“To Hamunaptra!” Came the rousing chorus, then the glasses clinked and the whiskey was drunk. It was smooth and pleasant, obviously an expensive make. To himself Beni thought ‘Yes, to Hamunaptra, and to the money you idiots are giving me to get you there.’  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo plot. I’m not sure how well I captured Beni’s P.O.V., but I gave it a go and that’s what counts, right? This chapter is longer than most of my essays and took far less time to write… Anything in italics from now on is spoken in Arabic. I’m going to start working on the next chapter right now, I promise. Happy readings!


End file.
